A New Texas Law, Meant to Protect Kids, Threatens the Very Camps They Cherish

There's a palpable tension hanging over Texas youth camps right now, and it’s not from a campfire ghost story. It’s a very real concern stemming from a new state law, House Bill 859, which took effect on September 1st, 2023. While undeniably well-intentioned, designed to enhance child safety, many camp leaders are voicing a serious, urgent worry: this law, as currently written, could very well spell the end for numerous beloved youth camps across the Lone Star State.

At its heart, HB 859 mandates comprehensive federal and state criminal background checks, alongside sex offender registry checks, for every single employee and volunteer aged 18 or over working at a youth camp. And here's the kicker – these checks aren't just a one-time thing; they need to be refreshed every five years. Sounds reasonable on the surface, doesn't it? Who wouldn't want to ensure kids are safe?

But dive a little deeper, and the picture becomes considerably more complicated, even daunting, for these organizations. Take Camp For All, for instance, a phenomenal place that provides specialized experiences for children facing significant challenges and chronic illnesses. Their CEO, Kevin Fink, estimates this new mandate could tack on an astonishing half-million dollars in annual expenses. Half a million! For a non-profit organization already stretching every dollar, that kind of financial hit isn't just a setback; it's potentially catastrophic. It’s money that simply isn’t in the budget, money that usually goes directly to programming and support for the children who need it most.

And it's not just about the money, though that's a huge piece of the puzzle. There's also the immense logistical nightmare. Imagine needing federal background checks for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of seasonal staff and dedicated volunteers. These checks, as many have found, can take weeks, even months, to process. For camps that rely heavily on a summer influx of counselors, activity leaders, and support staff – many of whom are college students or part-time volunteers – that kind of delay is a non-starter. They simply won't have enough time to get everyone cleared before camp starts.

The very fabric of these camps, you see, often relies on the generosity of volunteers. These aren't just folks doing a casual favor; they're the lifeblood, offering mentorship, running activities, and ensuring the smooth operation of daily camp life. Requiring these committed individuals to navigate a lengthy, potentially complex, and often personally intrusive background check process might, unfortunately, deter many from volunteering at all. And if the volunteers dry up, the programs dwindle, or worse, cease to exist.

It's crucial to understand that these camps aren't dismissing child safety; quite the opposite. Most already have robust safety protocols in place, including background checks for positions with direct child contact, extensive training, and strict supervision. They are, after all, places built on trust and care. The argument isn't against the spirit of the law, but against its overly broad application and the significant unintended consequences it's creating for an industry that operates uniquely from, say, a typical school or daycare.

So, where does this leave them? Camp leaders are now earnestly appealing to lawmakers, hoping for some flexibility, an amendment, or at the very least, clearer guidelines that acknowledge the operational realities of youth camps. Without some kind of adjustment, many fear that the very places designed to build character, foster friendships, and create unforgettable childhood memories might just become another casualty of a law that, while well-meaning, failed to fully consider the real-world impact on the organizations it aims to regulate. It's a tricky balance, ensuring safety without inadvertently dismantling the very institutions that serve our children so profoundly.